Agnes gives her a blank stare and then gets in the back, biting the inside of her cheek. We get Benny arranged carefully on her lap and then Nana Pete peels out of the hospital parking lot. The next thing I know, the Queen Mary is flying along a road called Route 81 South, going so fast that the trees seem to blur. I don’t say anything, but I get the feeling that we’re not in Connecticut anymore.
No one talks for what seems like a very long time. I am, maybe for one of the first times in my life, at a complete loss for words. It feels sort of like we are riding along inside a soap bubble, a thin, transparent little thing that might pop at any second if the wind blows too hard or I breathe too loudly. And so I hunch down in the front seat of the car and just stay still. For a while, I stare out the window. To tell you the truth, I’m a little disappointed. Maybe it’s because we’re on a highway, or maybe the excitement of being out here for the first time is starting to wear off, but the outside world—at least from this vantage point—is pretty boring. All the commercials I’ve seen on TV have shown hot-air balloons soaring over wide green fields, shiny cars racing along winding roads, people running toward the ocean or sailing on huge boats. But all I can see, as far as I look, are trees and more trees. Mostly maple and oak, with the occasional scrubby pine. A field here and there breaks up the line of forestry, but even they are flat and full of dull, wilted-looking grass. I try to keep my eyes peeled for butterflies, but it’s nearly impossible with Nana Pete whizzing along like she is. We’ve passed five or six signs already that have indicated that the speed limit is sixty-five miles per hour, but she’s going at least eighty. At least.
After about an hour, however, I catch a glimpse of some houses. And although they are set back against the highway and not in a neighborhood, they still have yards and flowers in the front and in the back of one, a kid swinging on a tire. I crane my neck as we pass the kid on the swing and I want to ask Nana Pete to stop so I can get out and ask the kid his name and where he goes to school and how he likes living where he does, but of course I can’t. Then there are some big buildings—a tan one with bright red letters that spell out SHOP RITE, and a smaller one that reads RITE AID. People are hurrying in and out of both stores, their arms full of packages. I wonder what sorts of things they have purchased, and how much money they spent. What do things like toothpaste or soap cost, anyway? Finally we pass a whole line of stores, all connected together in one straight line. I read as fast as I can, but they pass by in a blur and the only one I can make out is ROY’S PIZZA. I sit back in my seat, feeling impatient and hungry.
“Nana Pete?” I ask finally.
“Yes, sugar?”
“What does a Big Mac taste like?”
“A Big—” Nana Pete looks confused.
“Dr. Pannetta said something about Benny having a craving for a Big Mac,” I press. “Are they that good?”
“Oh my Lord, darlin’, you’ve never had a Big Mac, have you?” She looks into the rearview mirror. “How ’bout you, Mouse?” I glance back at Agnes. She doesn’t move. “No, of course you wouldn’t have if Honey here hasn’t.” Nana Pete smacks both of her hands against the steering wheel. “Well, that, my fellow travelers, is the first business of the day.” She veers widely off the road, toward a green sign that says HARRISBURG. In a few minutes, we are sitting behind four other cars in a line outside a brown, squat building with a gigantic yellow M on the roof. “This here is called the McDonald’s drive-through,” Nana Pete says, looking more excited than I’ve seen her in days. “McDonald’s is the official home of the Big Mac.”
“What is it, exactly?” I ask. “A Big Mac, I mean?”
Nana Pete rubs her hands together. “A Big Mac, darlin’, is just about one of the worst things you can put into your body. It’s also one of the most delicious, which is why I make it a point to have at least three a month.” She sighs. “Two greasy hamburgers layered between three hamburger buns, slathered with ketchup and cheese and special sauce. Oh Lord, when you wash it all down with some french fries and an icy cold Coca-Cola, you’ll think you died and went to heaven.”
My stomach gurgles with excitement. “Man,” I breathe. “It sounds amazing. Can I get two?”
“Of course!” Nana Pete claps her hands together. “Get three if you want! It’s your first Big Mac!” She looks over the seat at Agnes. “How ’bout you, Mouse? You want to try one?” Agnes bites her lip and stares out the window. The car in front of Nana Pete finally drives away and she pulls up in front of a flat board covered with pictures of hamburgers. Then she starts talking into it! I almost fall out of the car when a girl’s voice shoots back at her, repeating her order.